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LAGK. HILLS 
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BLACK HILLS 
BALLADS 

JSnhert V. (Earr 



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1002 







IHfc LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 


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JAN 8 1903 

CopyngfU Entry 
CLASS CL XXc. No. 


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14- L> t L t 

COPY 8. 





COPYRIGHT, 1902 

in Robert H. (Harr 



All Rights Reserved 



1 • • ••• •' 






• • » 



PRESS OF 



Q% 58??& JJubltHljtttg (dnrnpany 



DENVER 



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Er&uattmt 

TO THE PEOPLE OF THE BLACK HILLS OF SOUTH DAKOTA 

THIS VOLUME IS MOST SINCERELY DEDICATED 

WITH THE HOPE THAT THEY MAY FIND AS MUCH JOY IN THE 

READING AS THE AUTHOR HAS FOUND IN THE WRITING. 



Autljor'a Kot? 

The poems contained in this volume have appeared 
in Collie/s Weekly, Overland Monthly, The Dakotan, 
Chicago Post, Sioux City Journal, St. Paul Dispatch, 
Deadwood Pioneer-Times, Cripple Creek Star and the 
Denver Times. To the editors of these publications, 
who have assisted me in gathering my scattered stalks 
of poesy into a single sheaf, I am greatly indebted. 

Robert V. Carr. 

Whitewood, S. D., November, 1902. 



(EfltttnttB 

PART I 

PAGE 

Little Feller — 

Child of the Sunset Country 13 

Kick of the Ranch Hand 17 

Baldy Joe's Simple Little Rhyme 19 

Love of Bill Haines 22 

A Matter of Opinion 25 

Cowboy's Salvation Song 27 

Dance, You Punchers, Dance 29 

Loafin' Time 3 1 

Fishin' in th' Shade 3 2 

Springtime on th' Range 34 

The Light of the Smiles in Her Eyes 36 

Yes, Ma She Cried 38 

A Word From the Old Prospector 4° 

When Dutch y Plays the Mouth Harp 42 

The Don't Care Man 44 

Almos' Time fer Fishin' 46 

When a Man Has Money 47 

Fer I'm a Boy 49 

A Feller Git's Dreamy Once in a While 5° 

You'd Better Learn How 5 2 

Lullaby in Hesperia 54 

An Eastern Farmer in the Black Hills 56 

Cowboy's Trail-Song 58 

Partiality 59 

Down at Haller's Dancin' 61 



O CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Romance of the Range 63 

She Tamed Him 65 

Let's Quit Quarrelin' fer Awhile 67 

The Kind He Wanted 68 

When It's Gittin' Plantin' Time 70 

In Search of Local Color 72 

Out West 74 

Time's Heavy Hand 75 

Let's Go Back yy 

This Meller Autumn Weather 79 

Holoway 81 

Not Built that Way 83 

Them White Fairees 84 

A Westerner's Lament 86 

Homesickness 88 

The Way of the Regular 91 

Makers of Men 94 

The Roses the Florist Don't Keep 97 

When She Goes to Git th' Mail 99 

You'd Better Keep A-Smilin' 102 

PART II 

Dawn in the Black Hills 105 

The Pines Sing Wild and the Winds Are Free. .106 

On the Trail to Sleepyville 108 

Green Prairies no 

June in the Hills in 

Silhouette in Sepia 113 

Welcome, Miss May 114 

Flood-Song of the Mountains 115 

Legend of the Chinook 116 

Ah, There, Miss Violet 117 

The Shameless Stream 118 



CONTENTS 7 

PAGE 

Prairie Wolves 120 

The Rattlesnake 121 

March on the Plains 122 

The Western Trail 123 

Silences of the Night 124 

Honolulu 125 

Just for You 126 

Pictures Three 128 

PART III 

The Songs I'd Like to Sing 131 

The Good in Sorrow 133 

When She Plays 135 

The Doom of the Loiterer 137 

The Welcome One 138 

The Best 139 

Tears 141 

To the Only One 144 

The Coat in the Pawnshop Door 146 

You Went Away 148 

Just Yesterday 149 

Dreams You Dream 151 

The World's Desire 153 

Thy Voice 154 

Her Eyes 155 

The Roses of Love 157 

I Have Sang to Thee, Love 159 

Perhaps 160 

A Song of Hope 161 

Sister Mine 162 

Onjinjintka 164 

To a Manila Mestiza 168 

Story of Little Feller 169 



BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



PART I 



LITTLE FELLER ; 

CHILD OF THE SUNSET COUNTRY 
I. 

Little Feller, do you know, 
That your daddy loves you so 
That if harm would come to you, 
If they'd close them eyes o' blue, 
If I heerd your steps no more, 
Makin' music on th' floor, 
Guess I'd want 'em take me, too, 
Right along, my boy, with you? 

That's th' way your daddy feels, 
Nothin' like it e'er appeals 
To his heart an' makes it ache, 
When he thinks some one might take 
You, my lad, up there-away, 
Where th' time is allers day ; 
An' I thinks if that's to be, 
They've jes' gotter to take me. 



14 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Little Feller, come here now, 
Tell your daddy when an' how 
That they give to you, my boy, 
Secrets of jes' makin' joy. 
Huh! you wanter kiss your dad? 
Say, you're gittin' quite a lad; 
'Spects some day you'll be like paw, 
Now skip out an' kiss your maw. 

II. 

He's his pappy' s boy, you bet! 
Never seen a youngun yet 
That could beat that little cuss — 
Land o' Lawdy ! What a fuss ! 
Playin' hoss an' prancin' round, 
Rollin', kickin' on th' ground — 
Say, young feller, seems to me 
That you're gittin' rollicky; 
Guess bin better if you had 
Bin a little less like dad. 

Sez he wants a buckin' hoss, 
An' a cow outfit to boss; 
Sez he wants a six-gun, too ; 
Don't know what I'm goin' to do 
If that boy keeps thatoway; 
Tho' I'll swear I'll have to say 



LITTLE FELLER I 5 

That there youngun on th' ground 
Jes' makes pappy stand eround. 
'Cause he's all I ever had, 
An' exactly like his dad. 

III. 

Little Feller's gone, I know, 
Yet it seems to me as tho' 
I can hear him callin' clear 
Fer his daddy to come here, 
Jes' to see th' house he's built 
Out o' mammy's crazy quilt. 
Little Feller's gone, I know, 
Went about a year ago; 
Yet it seems I can't ferget, 
Fer I feel his kisses yet, 
Hear his voice a-tellin' glad 
How he's lovin' of his dad ; 

See him playin' hoss agin, 
Jes' th' same as I did th'n. 
Little Feller's gone, I know, 
All th' minits tell me so; 
Tho' sometimes I think an' smile, 
He's a-vis'tin' fer awhile, 
Jes' a-vis'tin' in th' sky, 
To be with us by an' by. 



l6 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Then his mammy sees my eyes, 
An' she goes — away — an' — cries— 
An', to tell th' truth, I do 
Wish that I might jes' cry, too. 
Little Feller's gone, I know, 
Where we hope some day to go, 
Me an' mammy — heart-broke pair- 
An' find Little Feller there. 



KICK OF THE RANCH HAND 17 



KICK OF THE RANCH HAND 

Dern my hide, I feel so lazy, 
Feel so stretchy, feel so dazy, 
When th' ole, red day is dawnin', 
An' I'm layin' here an' yawnin', 

Thinkin' if I had a doller, 
Like to see th' man who'd holler, 
Or even dare to whisp'rin' say : 
"Git up, Jim, don't sleep all day." 

What man is there in this land, 
Has th' trubbles of a hand? 
Go to bed at dark an' more, 
You git up at half-past four ; 

An' you pail 'bout forty-six 
Gosh-blamed cow-brutes an' th' tricks 
That they play an' put on you, 
Jes' would make an angel stew. 

Honestly, I git so mad 

That sometimes I wish I had 



l8 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Power to jes' make one swipe, 
An' ev'ry kickin' cow-brute wipe 

Off this whirlin', jiggy earth, 
Fer 'twould give me scads of mirth. 
Honestly, I know it would 
Do me jes' a sight of good. 

An' there's th' pigs to slop an' feed, 
Give th' hosses what they need; 
See th' chickins all are fed, 
An' th' pigins overhead. 

An' there's water fer to bring, 
From that singy-songy spring; 
An' there's wood to chop — an' all 
This is done 'fore breakfast call. 

Then you hook th' plow team on, 
An' go stragglin' thro' th' dawn; 
Work an' work an' sweat all day, 
Work an' work an' work away. 

Dern my hide I feel so lazy, 
Feel so stretchy, feel so dazy, 
An' th' ole red day is dawnin', 
An' I'm layin' here an' ya-a-a-aw — nin' 



BALDY JOE'S SIMPLE LITTLE RHYME 19 



BALDY JOE'S SIMPLE LITTLE RHYME 

Oh, I know an ole cowpuncher, an' they call 

him Baldy Joe, 
B' cause his hair is somethin' that is absent, 

don't you know; 
An' he sits up in th' saddle, sort o' lives there 

all th' time, 
An' a-hummin' an a-hummin' this here simple 
little rhyme: 
There hain't no sense 

Like a logie fer to sit, 
'Cause you think you hain't a-gittin' 

What you think you orter git. 
So it's quit your jawin', 

Keep a-cinchin' up your grip, 
An' brace yourself an' allers 
Keep a tight rein on your lip. 

Joe is a queerish critter, he's a mighty funny 

man; 
Never has a speck o' trouble, an' you never, 

never can 



20 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Hear him kickiiv or complaining 'cause he's 

happy all the time — 
Jes' a-huniniin' an' a-hummin' this here simple 

little rhyme : 
There hain't no sense 

Like a logie fer to sit, 
'Cause you think you hain't a-gittin' 

What you think you orter git. 
So it's quit your jawin', 

Keep a-cinchin' up your grip, 
An' brace yourself an' allers 

Keep a tight rein on your lip. 

Bin a-thinkin' an' a-thinkin' if th' world was 

fashioned so, 
'Twould tally with th' hummin' of that happy 

feller Joe ; 
She'd be a blamed sight better, git some better 

all th' time, 
'Cause there's a scad o' boss sense in his simple 

little rhyme: 
There hain't no sense 

Like a logie fer to sit, 
'Cause you think you hain't a-gittin' 

What you think you orter git. 



BALDY JOE'S SIMPLE LITTLE RHYME 21 

So it's quit your jawin', 

Keep a-cinchin' up your grip, 

An' brace yourself an' allers 
Keep a tight rein on your lip. 



22 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



LOVE OF BILL HAINES 

Uster be that he lived back in them Hills we call 

th' Black; was th' kindest sort o' cuss 

you'd want a-see; 
An' he'd no known relation in th' wide, wide 

creation, an' he didn't know nobody 'cep- 

tin' me. 
He'd a cabin on th' crick where th' spruces 

growed that thick, you could camp down 

underneadst 'em when it rains, 
An' be all snug- an' dry, sure enuff, it weren't 

no lie; I learnt it from conversin' with 

Bill Haines. 

Ole Bill Haines — th' feller lived an' he panned 
an' dug an' dived in th' gravel of th' Big 
Bernanza Bar; 

Never'd leave th' camp to rub up aginst th' 
town 'cept grub was gittin' down to bed- 
rock in th' jar, 

Then he'd take a flour sack an' go trailin' 
down th' track an' suddin into town 
a-walkin' come, 



LOVE OF BILL HAINES 23 

An' buy a slab o' meat an' some other truck to 
eat an' then about as suddin hit fer home. 

Knowed Ole Bill fer many years — loved him, 

too — an' say th' tears sort o' sluiced up in 

my eyes one winter day, 
When I comes into his shack an' see him layin' 

back with a rippin' case of that new- 

mown-nee-a. 
Bin rarin' 'round all night an' his eyes were 

shinin' bright, an' he didn't seem to know 

me, sure he did; 
Tho' I did th' best I could, it didn't do no 

good, fer Bill was booked fer slidin' an' 

he slid. 

Stayed by him thro' thick an' thin, but no use 

an' then agin, he was a-sort o' pinin' 

thatoway, 
Fer he had a lock o' hair, underneadst his pillow 

there, that he'd kiss about a thousand 

times a day. 
"Meet me there," he'd say an' sigh, "I'll be 

with you by an' by, an' I'll never, no 

I'll never go away, 
An' our troubles '11 be o'er an' we'll laugh fer- 

ever more," them's th' words that he 

would mumble night an' day. 



24 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

An' that's th' way that Bill carried on until, 

until one night he sort o' looked up, smiled, 

an* said: 
"Meet me there, my little one," an' right there 

Ole Bill was done, an' th' shack seemed 

sort o' lonely with th' dead. 
Laid th' blanket o'er his face an' went out to 

breathe a space, an' git that 'culiar feelin' 

out my throat, 
Fer I loved ole, quiet Bill an' I'll love th' ole 

man 'til my notice in th' Great Camp's 

plainly wrote. 

Planted him above th' bars where th' everlastin' 

stars an' th' pines kin sort o' watch him 

in his rest, 
An' sing so soft an' low, 'bout th' gal he 

worked fer so an' toiled an' slaved an' 

died fer in th' West. 
Fer it is th' story old that he'd find a mine o' 

gold, come back to her an' see her smilin' 

fine, 
"Meet me there," he'd say an' sigh, "I'll be 

with you by an' by, an' bring a heap o' 

gold fer sweetheart mine." 



A MATTER OF OPINION 25 



A MATTER OF OPINION 

If you ever stop over 

At Happy-go-ville — 
Ten miles from th' railroad 

An' quiet an' still, 
With a little postofnce 
An' store all in one 
Where all th' camp's tradin' 

An' dickerin's done — 
You'll find Ole Joe Felton 
A-hangin' 'round there. 
Like enuff on th' storestep 

En joy in' the air, 
An' cashully puffin' 

A pipe o' small size, 
Whilst tellin' us fellers 

Some fictitious lies. 
Joe Felton — Ole Joe — 

Well, say I don't know, 
But what a great awthur 

Was lost in Ole Joe, 
For I'd jes' as soon lis'n, 
Nor give seven darns, 



26 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

All day to Joe Felton, 
A-spinnin' his yarns. 

Some say he's untruthful, 

Well, what if he is? 
They're good healthy lies, 

Be them lies o' his; 
An' you might as well say 

Them awthurs an' such, 
Hain't fur behind Joseph 

So overly much. 
They've jes' got a lie-sunce 

Fer lyin', that's all, 
While Joe hain't got nuthin' 

'Cept natural born gall, 
Or a gift I would say 

Of tellin' a thing, 
'Til it sounds with th' clearest 

True honesty ring. 
Joe Felton — Ole Joe — 

Well, say I don't know, 
But what a great awthur 

Was lost in Ole Joe; 
Fer I'd jes' as soon lis'n, 

Nor give seven darns, 
All day to Joe Felton, 

A-spinnin' his yarns. 



cowboy's salvation song 27 



COWBOY'S SALVATION SONG 

Oh, it's move along, you dogies, don't be 

driftin' by th' way, 
Fer there's goin' to be a round-up an' a cuttiri- 

out they say, 
Of all th' devil's dogies an' a movin' at sunrise, 
An' you'd better be preparin' fer a long drive 

to th' skies. 

Oh, it's move along, you dogies, don't be 

driftin' by th' way, 
Fer th' boss of all th' rus'lers is a-comin' 'round 

to-day. 
So you'd better be a-movin', throw your dust 

right in his eyes, 
An' hit th' trail a-flyin' fer th' home-ranch in 

th' skies. 

So it's move along, you dogies, fer th' devil 

has in hand 
A bunch of red-hot irons an' he's surely goin' 

to brand 



28 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

All his dogies, an' some others, an' mighty. 

suddin, too, 
So you'd better be a-movin' so he won't be 

brandin' you. 

So it's move along, you dogies, tho' you have 

th' mange o' sin, 
There's a range you're sure to shake it when 

you come a-trailin' in, 
Where th' grass is allers growin' an' th' water's 

allers pure, 
So it's move along, you dogies, 'fore th' devil 

brands you sure. 



DANCE, YOU PUNCHERS, DANCE 29 



DANCE, YOU PUNCHERS, DANCE 

Oh, whoop it up an' let's be gay, 
It's a long time now 'til break o' day ; 
So fer a good time git a hunch, 
An' cut your gal from out th' bunch — 

An' say — 

You may 
Start them fiddles right away, 
An' Jiggin' Finn 

With his 'cor-din' 
Will do th' rest, so all join in, 
An' pound th' floor with your high-heeled boot. 
An' swing your granger gal so cute, 
An' dance, you punchers, dance. 

Oh, lips are sweet an' eyes are bright, 
'Tis sparkin' time fer all to-night; 
So lope along an' do your best, 
An' cut right in an' lead th' rest. 

An' say — 

You may 



30 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Start them fiddles right away, 
An' Jiggin' Finn 

With his 'cor-din' 
Will do th' rest, so all join in, 
An' pound th' floor with your high-heeled boot, 
An' swing your granger gal so cute, 
An' dance, you punchers, dance. 

There's drink an' fodder fer you-all, 
My land-o'-goodness ! hear that call ! 
Th' set's a-formin' ! Cut loose now ! 
An' show them bashful fellers how — 

An' say — 

You may 
Start them fiddles right away, 
An' Jiggin' Finn 

With his 'cor-din' 
Will do th' rest, so all join in, 
An' pound th' floor with your high-heeled boot, 
An' swing your granger gal so cute, 
An' dance, you punchers, dance. 



loafin' time 3 1 



LOAFIN' TIME 

Th' trees are whisperin' a tale 
Of shade an' lazy dreams ; 

Of loiter in' an' linger in' 
Beside th' singin' streams. 
Tis loafin' time. 

Th' woods are makin' love to you, 
They're sayin' you had best 

Come out from work an' idle there, 
Upon th' lap of rest — 
'Tis loafin' time. 



2,2 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



FISHIN' IN TH' SHADE 

Did you ever go an' loaf on th' bank of some 

ole crick, 
With vi'lets fer your beddin' an' a bit o' line 

an' stick; 
With a pouch o' good terbacker or a chaw o' 

yaller twist? 
Didn't you? Well, honest, what a lot o' fun 

you've missed. 

Did you ever go an' loaf where th' canyuns 
reared so high 

That it seemed th' pines were pokin' little air- 
holes in th' sky; 

With a paper full o' eatin' an' a bottle on th' 
list? 

Didn't you? Well, honest, what a lot o' fun 
you've missed. 

Did you ever go an' loaf when th' afternoons 

were long, 
An' th' canyuns full o' dreamin' an' th' treetops 

full o' song — 



FISHIN IN TH SHADE 33 

Jes' layin' back so peaceful, with a cob pipe 

in your fist? 
Didn't you? Well, honest, what a lot o' fun 

you've missed. 



j.\ Bl \iK HILLS i! U i IDS 



\/'/v' / A G I' I M /•' .V /'// • AM A' (//■ 

Oh, it's gittin' onto spring, an* so let us up an' 
sing of tli* greenin' of 1 1 1 " prairies in th' 
sun. 

An* iir comin' of th' birds an' th' fat'nin' of th' 

herds start a-ttinin' Up your voices 

ev'ryone — 

Oh, inv ! sec tli* smilin' sky, winter's gittin' 
ro;uly lit to slide. 
Ait's some wanner, hain't it. say? 
Chinook, yes, an' breath o' May, 

An' crocuses along th' Big Divide. 

Soon a teller hears an' sees blackbirds niilliif 
in tli" trees, soon th' roses will he 

bloomin' Fer th' May, 
Oh, it's comin' don't von feel that it's gittin' 

time to peel all your winter duds an' 
SOrto' sweetly say : 

Oh. myl see th' smilin' sky. winter's gittin' 

ready for to slide. 



SPRINGTIME ON in RANGE 35 



Air's some warmer, hain't it, say? 
Chinook, yes, an' breath o' May, 
An* crocuses along th' Big l)ivi<lc 



36 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE LIGHT OF THE SMILES IN HER EYES 

The light of the smiles in her eyes, 
The light of the smiles in her eyes, 
Us two on the porch 'neath the vines all 

a-bloom, 
And the night gone to rest in a bed o' perfume, 
And the hair 'round her face in a lover's caress, 
And a bunch o' dark pansies in a dream on her 

breast, 
While the light o' the skies, Oh, the light o' 

the skies, 
Don't half way compare to the smiles in her 

eyes. 

The light of the smiles in her eyes, 

The light of the smiles in her eyes, 

With her in the rocker and I on the step, 

And the lilacs talked and the shadows crept, 

And the frogs sang away on the old pond's 

rim, 
While the stars went out and the fields grew 

dim, 



THE LIGHT OF THE SMILES IN HER EYES 37 

With her speaking soft and I likewise, 
While my soul felt the light o' the smiles in 
her eyes. 

The light of the smiles in her eyes, 
The light of the smiles in her eyes, 
Has blurred sometimes with tears — shining 

tears, 
But it's been my true guide thro' all the dark 

years, 
Since we sat 'neath the trellis so long, long ago, 
Since the time that my heart was beginning to 

know 
The dawning of joy in the spirit's bright skies, 
And I fell in love with the smiles in her eyes. 



38 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



YES, MA SHE CRIED 

Went in last evenin' to a show, 'twas one of 

great renown, 
An' me an' ma jes' left th' ranch and drove 

into th' town. 
An', say, yon know in that there show, a little 

gal she died. 
An' I — well, ma, she jes' broke down — yes, ma 

she cried. 

It kind o' hit us home, yon see, we lost our gal 

— our all — 
Our honey gal left me an' ma and went away 

last fall. 
An' when that one th' show act done an' made 

believe she died, 
Well, I — oh, ma she jes' broke down — yes, ma 

she cried. 

Jes' seemed as tho' there wuz a blur that 

dimmed an' hurt my eyes; 
Jes' seemed I couldn't help but think of baby 

in th' skies. 



YES, MA SHE CRIED 39 

An' when that one th' show act done an' made 

believe she died, 
I jes' — well, ma she jes' broke down — yes, ma 

she cried. 



40 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



A WORD FROM THE OLD PROSPECTOR 

I've bin diggin' 'round these hills, 
Twenty winters with their chills, 
Livin' like an ole muskrat. 
Ven'son, flapjacks, bacon fat, 
An' it kind amuses me, 
When mos' ev'ry day I see, 
Some pore feller from th' East, 
Mighty lonesome sort o' beast, 
Sighin' 'cause th' gold don't grow, 
Like termaters in a row, 
So he might fill up his sack, 
An' go lafrm', singin' back. 

'Fore he came he rather thought, 
That th' metal really ought 
Be jes' plentiful around, 
Anywhere upon th' ground; 
An' that in a single day, 
He'd git all he'd cart away. 
But he run agin a stump, 
Now he's sittin' in a dump, 



A WORD FROM THE OLD PROSPECTOR 41 

Sort o' thinkin', sort o' blue, 
Grub's eat up an' dollars few, 
Wishin' that he never got 
Such a ways from daddy's cot. 

But 'twill do him lots o' good, 
Larn th' feller to saw wood, 
Stay to home an' do what is 
In his 'tickler line o' biz. 
Tenderfeet will find th' camps 
Hain't lit up with golden lamps; 
Streets hain't paved with it jes' yet, 
Hain't a-layin' 'round, you bet, 
Hain't no lafrm' kind o' bluff, 
Gold is where you find th' stuff; 
Years of work an' toil an' heft, 
Then th' chances you'll git left. 



42 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



WHEN DUTCHY PLAYS THE MOUTH HARP 

When Dutchy plays th' mouth harp, 

All th' fellers gather 'round, 
An' help on with th' music, 

By a-stompin' on th' ground ; 
An' th' cook he cuts a shuffle, 

An' the night hawk pats his hand, 
When Dutchy plays th' mouth harp, 

In a way to beat th' band. 

When Dutchy plays th' mouth harp, 

An' we've cached our chuck away, 
An' a-feelin' mighty foxy 

An' a-feelin' mighty gay, 
There's nothin' we like better 

Than to lend a pattin' hand, 
When Dutchy plays th' mouth harp, 

In a way to beat th' band. 

When Dutchy plays th' mouth harp — 
Plays a cake walk mighty fine — 

'Tis then us ole cowpunchers 
Come a-steppin' down th' line; 



WHEN DUTCHY PLAYS THE MOUTH HARP 43 

Around th' fire shuffilin' 

An' a-pattin' of th' hand, 
When Dutchy plays th' mouth harp, 

In a way to beat th' band. 



44 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE DON'T CARE MAN 

Oh, I don't care if it's rain or shine. 

Or whether she's calm or blows ; 
An' I don't think 'tis fault o' mine, 

If it don't or if it snows. 
Fer I don't want to even think 

Or care which way I'm bound, 
But jes' keep a smilin' an' lettin' things slide, 

An' keep on a-dubbin' around. 

Oh, I don't care if th' whole works quit, 

Or whether they moves ahead; 
Or what we're goin' to do or git, 

When we're gone fer keeps an' dead. 
Fer I don't want to even think, 

Or care which way I'm bound, 
But jes' keep a-smilin' an' lettin' things slide, 

An' keep on a-dubbin' around. 

Oh, I don't care what other folks say, 

Or what in me they sees; 
Fer each man's free to think his way, 

An' do as he dern please, 



THE DON T CARE MAN 45 

An' I don't want to even think, 

Or care which way I'm bound, 
But jes' keep a-smilin' an' lettin' things slide, 

An' keep on a-dubbin' around. 



46 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



ALMOS' TIME FER FISHIN' 

Golly! won't us kids feel fine, 
When we gits our hooks an' line? 
Me an' Ducky, Freckled Fizz, 
All will go, fer sure it is 
Almos' time fer fishin'. 

I knows where they bites th' best. 
Up th' crick at Hermit's Rest ; 
There youse kin jes' pull 'em out, 
Since it's gittin' jes' about 
Almos' time fer fishin'. 

Fizz air Ducky goes with me, 
An' there's eatin's jes' fer three ; 
An' we've got some 'backer hid, 
Fer to smoke same as we did 
Last time we went fishin'. 

Golly ! won't us kids feel fine, 
When we gits our hooks an' line? 
Me an' Ducky, Freckled Fizz, 
All will go fer sure it is 
Almos' time fer fishin'. 



WHEN A MAN HAS MONEY 47 



WHEN A MAN HAS MONEY 

Friends a-smilin' ev'rywhere, 
Weather lookin' mighty fair; 
Skies a soft an' tender blue, 
Birds a-singin' songs to you. 
"Hello there," an' "mornin' Bill," 
How their eyes with gladness fill, 
How they grab your hand an' shake, 
How they bid you come an' take 
Something wet an' hot with them, 
Jes' to loosen up th' flem 
In your throat, fer 'tis so, 
Sich like favors count, you know, 
When a man has money. 

Don't th' world look bright an' fine, 
In her gown of sun an' shine? 
Hain't she smilin' sweet an' pert. 
Like a reg'ler little flirt? 
Don't th' glad hands to you reach? 
Don't they holler, "you're a peach?" 
Don't luck come jes' on th' whirr, 
When you hain't a-needin' her? 



48 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Don't things come, Oh, don't they, say, 
Come a-runnin' down your way? 
Don't it seem an easy game, 
Pilin' up some more th' same, 
When a man has money? 



FER IMA BOY 49 



FER I'M A BOY 

Where is th' bestest huntin' now ? 

Where do th' rabbits go 
An' make their tracks an' leave their trails 
Across th' nice new snow? 
I guess I know — 
I guess I know, 
Fer I'm a boy. 

Where has th' squirrel his cupboard an' 

Th' little chipmonk, too? 
An' lots an' lots of secrits that 
I hain't a-tellin' you — 

I guess I know — 
I guess I know, 
Fer I'm a boy. 

Where is th' chickens gone an' hid — 
Th' ones what whirs their wings? 
Why, you don't know much as a kid, 
About such common things — 
I guess I know — 
I guess I know, 
Fer I'm a boy. 



50 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



A FELLER GITS DREAMY ONCE IN A WHILE 

A feller gits dreamy once in a while, as dreamy 
as dreamy kin be, 
An' somethin' like that I'm a-thinkin' jes' 
now, 
Is sort o' affectin' me — 
Sort o' affectin' me — 
Sort o' affectin' me. 

I see in my dreams th' wilier-banked streams, 

where th' trout splash th' riffles with 

sunshiny gleams; 
I see a cool place where th' white waters race 

an' th' shadders move 'long at a time- 

takin' pace. 
I see jes' as plain th' twist in th' lane, with th' 

little green leaves all a-drinkin' th' rain ; 
An' th' hills in a haze an' th' long, lazy days, 

when a feller's whole heart at fergit- 

fulness plays. 

A feller gits dreamy once in a while, as dreamy 
as dreamy kin be. 



A FELLER GITS DREAMY ONCE IN A WHILE 51 

An' somethirT like that I'm a-thinkin' jes' 
now, 
Is sort o' affectin' me — 
Sort o' affectin' me — 
Sort o' affectin' me. 



52 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



YOU'D BETTER LEARN HOW 

If you don't know how to smile 
To th' people all th' while; 
If you don't know how to hand 
Every feller in th' land 
Jes' a little bit o' guff, 
Kind o' complimentary stuff, 

You'd 

Better 

Learn 

How. 

If you don't know how to do 
When old trubble's hittin' you; 
If you don't know how to take 
Every single keen heartache, 
An' jes' down it an' jes' lope 
To th' shinin' camp o' hope, 

You'd 

Better 

Learn 

How. 



YOU D BETTER LEARN HOW 53 

If you don't know all these things 
That a lifetime surely brings, 
All th' tricks an' all th' ways 
That'll make th' darkest days 
Full o' sunshine, full o' song, 
'Til they fairly skip along, 

You'd 

Better 

Learn 

How. 



54 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



LULLABY IN HESPERIA 

Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Tbe dark is on and your pa's gone; 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Baby, baby, what would you do, 
I f a coyote just stole you? 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Ba-bee, 

Ba-bee. 

Ba-bee. 

Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
The pines do sing like everything; 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Baby, baby, just fly away, 
Into Dreamland's shining day. 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Ba-bee, 

Ba-bec, 

Ba-bee. 



LULLABY IN HESPERIA 55 

Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Ride to rest on your ma's breast ; 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Baby, baby, your little hands, 
Wave the trail to Sleepy Lands. 
Baby, won't you go to sleep? 
Ba-bee, 

Ba-bee, 

Ba-bee. 



56 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



AN EASTERN FARMER IN THE BLACK HILLS 

Mountain air is mighty pure, 
Doctors say that it will cure 
Everything that comes along. 
But I'm thinkin' rather strong 
Of a little humly way 
Where th' medder grasses play, 
An' th' sunshine on th' wheat 
Makes a picture sort o' sweet 
To a pair of humsick eyes, 
Fillin' up with glad surprise. 

Makes a picture mighty sweet, 
Makes a picture that's complete. 
Lest you throw in other things, 
Like th' lark that ever wings 
Up into them skies o' blue, 
An' the' singin' blackbird, too, 
An' th' honey bees an' sich, 
'Til th' picture gits so rich 
That until th' sunset dies, 
You could stand an' feast your eyes. 



AN EASTERN FARMER IN THE BLACK HILLS 57 

Mountain air is mighty pure, 
Doctors say that it will cure 
Everything that comes along, 
But I'm thinkin' rather strong, 
That a humsick heart was missed, 
When they figgered up th' list. 



58 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



CO IV BOY'S TRAIL-SONG 

Little gal back in th' town. 

Be you a-lovin' me? 
Little gal back in th' town. 

Be yon a-lovin' me? 

Uster think th' dawns were fine. 
With their colors all a-shine; 
'Til I seen your eyes, Lu-lee, 
Smilin', laughin' back at me. 

Uster think th' lilies tall. 
Of all flowers passed 'em all, 
'Till I seen you standin' there. 
With th' sunshine on your hair. 

Uster dream o' that Great Camp. 
When I'd watch th' heavens' lamp 
Light th' whole wide range o' blue, 
Now I'm dreamin' jes' o' you. 

Little gal back in th' town. 

Be you a-lovin' me? 
Little gal back in th' town, 

Be you a-lovin' me? 



PARTIALITY 59 



PARTIALITY 

You kin sing about th' glory 

Of the summer sunset skies, 
But I will keep a-hummin' 

'Bout th' glory of her eyes. 
You kin sing about th' roses, 

But roses can't compare 
To that little country maiden, 

With some ribbon in her hair. 

You kin sing about the lilies, 

Jes' as pure as purest snow, 
But I will keep a-hummin' 

'Bout th' fairer flower, tho' 
A purer, sweeter flower 

Than th' lily bendin' there, 
Jes' a little country maiden 

With some ribbon in her hair. 

All you poets sing of beauty 
In th' flowers, skies an' streams, 

But I will keep a-hummin' 

'Bout that maiden in my dreams; 



60 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

'Cause I think my subjeck's sweeter, 
Think I sing the sweetest air, 

'Cause it's all about a maiden. 
With some ribbon in her hair. 



DOWN AT HALLER'S DANCIN' 6l 



DOWN AT HALLER'S DANCIN' 

They're tunin' up th' orchestray, 

Down at ole Bill Haller's, 
He's th' feller that they claim 

Jes' beats all th' callers 
In th' country 'round fer miles, 

Ole bow-legged feller — 
Say, you orter hear that cuss 

Jes' git up an' beller. 

Swing your pardners ! H-m-m-m ! Well, yes. 

Take th' next one after, 
'Twon't harm nothin' if you do 

Shake th' roof with lafter. 
Fer it's joy-time, whoop-hi-ree ! 

Come around a-prancin', 
Guess there's nothin' like th' time, 

Down at Haller's dancin'. 

Hear them fiddles ! Hain't they great ! 

Sufferin' land o' lawdy! 
Ragtime, night time, high time, too, 

Come a-steppin' gawdy. 



62 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Come a-sailin' down th' line, 
Whoop-a-lorum ! let her, 

Seems to me there's nothin' that 
Makes a man feel better. 

Hear ole Haller, hear him now, 

All above th' funnin', 
Jes' a-laffin', callin', too, 

Keeps th' thing a-runnin'. 
Fer it's joy-time, turn me loose ! 

Come around a-prancin', 
Guess there's nothin' like th' time 

Down at Haller' s dancin'. 



ROMANCE OF THE RANGE 63 



ROMANCE OF THE RANGE 

She's bin out here a-teachin' fer this winter 

now a-past, 
An' I hear that she's a-tellin' that this winter is 

her last — 
That she's goin' to quit the schoolroom an' 

goin' home to stay — 
An' somehow I'm jes' hatin' fer to see her go 

away. 

Fer us fellers think that schoolmarm is an 

angel ; yes we do, 
A little blue-eyed angel, yet a woman thro' an' 

thro' ; 
An' she treats us all so kindly, jes' th' same 

most ev'ry day, 
An' somehow I'm jes' hatin' fer to see her go 

away. 

She hain't never give me reasons fer to think 

I'd have a show 
To win her, but I'm honest when I say I like 

her so, 



64 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

That I dread her time fer goin', count ev'ry 

passin' day, 
'Cause I'm hatin', jes' a hatin', fer to see her 

go away. 

Well, her term is 'bout completed an', say, I 

don't think I 
Have got th' nerve to greet her an' to say a 

last good-by; 
Seems so tough ! Oh, well, I'm feelin' — call 

it heartsick, if you may — 
An' I'm hatin', jes' a-hatin', fer to see her go 

away. 

LATER. 

Oh, say' I'm 'bout as happy as a feller wants 

to be; 
Went to see her, an', by hookie, she jes' upped 

an' cried — you see 
Right there I had to say it, what so long I've 

feerd to say, 
An' now we've went an' fixed it so she'll never 

go away. 



SHE TAMED HIM 65 



SHE TAMED HIM 

Jim Shivers was th' baddest man in th' camp, 

b'jingo, 
Not a fellow dast to give him a bit o' lingo. 
Up an' shoot ! well, I should say, an' he never 

tarried 
In his reckulous career 'til he went an' married. 
Now when Jim do say a word or do a bit o' 

tellin', 
Or gits his ole time dander up an' has a fit o' 

yellin', 
His wife jes' sez : 

"You great big clown 
You jes' shet up an' you jes' set down" — 
An' Jim does both. 

He's meek as any lamb you'd see, meekest 

sort o' critter, 
Any boy around th' camp run him to a fritter. 
Never has a word to say, never does no 

gunnin', 
Any shootin' goin' on all he does is runnin' ; 



66 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Jes' b'cause he's got a wife not afeerd to cross 

him, 
An' 'twould do you good to see that there 

woman boss him, 
An' hear her say : 

"You great big clown 
You jes' shet up an' you jes' set down" — 
An' Jim does both. 



let's quit quarrelin' per awhile 67 



LETS QUIT QUARREUN' PER AWHILE 

Let's quit quarrelin' fer awhile, 
In this ornry kind of stile, 
Let's quit envy, hate an' all, 
Let th' light o' heaven fall, 
Into hearts that's dark an' dim, 
Thinkin' life's a mournful hymn ; 
Sing a song brim o'er with joy, 
Like we sang as when a boy. 
Let us smile an' let's be gay, 
Let's quit quarrelin' fer to-day. 

Let's quit quarrelin' fer awhile, 
Let's shake hands an' let us smile ; 
Let's not think a single thought, 
That we really hadn't ought. 
Let us play th' friendship card, 
Let us have a kind regard 
Fer how othur folkses feel; 
Let us quit this envy deal. 
Let's jes' live an' let's be gay, 
Let's quit quarrelin' fer to-day. 



68 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE KIND HE WANTED 

Oh, now that sleyin' time is here an' wether is 

jes' boss, 
I like to take her ridin' with th' tamest kind o' 

hoss. 
I wants no prancin' critter that makes a suddin 

dive, 
An' rars an' tears hisself in two, 

But one 

That she 

Kin drive. 

I wants a hoss that knows his biz an' minds it 

to th' chalk, 
I wants a hoss kin pass th' rest, yet slow down 

on a walk 
When I have got my arms engaged, while 

hearts from bustin' strive, 
I wants a hoss, that kind of hoss, 

That kind 

That she 

Kin drive. 



THE KIND HE WANTED 69 

When sparkin' nights an' sleyin' nights an' 

moonlight nights are here, 
An' she an' I are sleyin' an' a-snugglin clns 

an' near, 
I wants a hoss that goes along an' lets our 

hearts revive 
On Love's champane, behind a hoss, 

A hoss 

That she 

Kin drive. 



70 ItLACK 11 ILLS BALLADS 



WHliN IT'S GITTIN' PLANTIN' TIME 

Did you over feci that way, 

When warm weather's eomin' on, 

An' you smell tlf green things growing 

Thro' 111' dusk an' thro' th' dawn? 
Jes' a sort o' stretchy feelin'. 

With your thoughts all out o' rhyme, 
Jes' a lazy, dazy feelin'. 

When it's gittin' plantiu' time. 

When it's gittin 1 plantiu' time. 
An' th' grangers sort th' seed, 

An' th' wimmin start house eleanin'. 
An' the blackbird's in th' reed. 

Land-a-mighty ! hain't you lazy! 
Why, you're scarcely worth a dime. 

All th' work you do is hardship 
When it's gittin' plantiu' time. 

Druther go an' set an' lis'n 

To th' curlews eallin' there, 
Druther watch th' sunbeams dancin' 

On th' gleamy, glinty air. 



WHEN ITS GITTIN 1'I.ANTFN TIME 71 



Druthcr lay back sort o' languid, 
Druther do mos* anything 

'Sides workin', when it's (jfittin* 
Plantin* time along in spring. 



72 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



IN SEARCH OF LOCAL COLOR 

Loafin' Jim 

I nicknamed him, 

'Twas 'bout th' same ole deal 

Of all th' West 

That's sort o' blest 

With speakin' as they feel. 

He never'd seem 
To even dream 
Of liftin' of his hand, 
An' lazy — pshaw! 
You never saw 
His equal in th' land. 

'Twas his way 

To never stay 

Around where hard work wuz, 

An' twas his style 

To set an' smile 

An' tell me that becuz 

Th' world knowed 
To him she owed 



IN SEARCH OF LOCAL COLOR 73 

A livin' by th' way 
It wern't his part 
To sweat an' smart 
Fer it th' live-long day. 

Loafin' Jim 

I nicknamed him, 

'Til he left camp one day, 

An' 'fore he went 

Jes' kindly spent 

Some dust a-treatin' way ; 

'N sort o' laffs 

An' kinder gaffs 

Me where I least suspec's — 

"I write," sez he, 

"Them books, you see, 

An' you go in my nex' !" 



74 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



OUT WEST 

March is here. 

And the brand-new calf 

Doth wobble 'round with mellow 

Laugh. 

The chickens cluck. 

And the glad, young bronco 

Snorting there, 

In all his mad delight doth try 

To kick the 

Scroll work 

Off 

The 

Sky. 



time's heavy hand 75 



TIME'S HEAVY HAND 

She was jes' a little granger an' her folks lived 

on th' crick, 
Jes' a little dark-eyed granger an' she allers 

drest that slick 
You'd think she'd caught th' fashion from th' 

ladies of th' town, 
'Specially when buggy-ridin' in her Sunday- 

meetin' gown. 

Uster take her 'way out drivin' on a-Sunday, 
don't you know, 

But I let her do th' drivin' fer I liked it bet- 
ter so; 

An' then my arm would wander in a circle 
close eroun' 

Th' place that was th' smallest in her Sunday- 
meet in' gown. 

Starlight, yes, an' prairies dreamin', cotton- 
woods a-sighin' there, 

An' th' wind a-sort o' triflin' with th' roses in 
her hair; 



76 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

An' a ribbin on my shoulder or a strayin' curl 

of brown, 
An' her heart a-beatin' gently 'gin her Sunday- 

meetin' gown. 

Uster to kiss her, huh, well, sort o' — when th' 

moon got back a cloud, 
An' she'd pout her lips pertendin' she was mad, 

an' then out loud 
She'd laff, an' fix her ribbins fer at times such 

things come down, 
When a girl goes buggy-ridin' in her Sunday- 

meetin' gown. 

Goodness my! but time's skedaddled; jes' a- 

gittin' there away; 
I'm bald-headed — gittin' worser ev'ry single 

passin' day; 
An' mother, Oh, well, mother broke th' scales 

up in th' town, 
An' she's made herself a necktie of that Sun- 

day-meetin' gown. 



let's go back 77 



LET'S GO BACK 

Let's go back an' let's go loafin' where th' wil- 

lers lean an' bend ; 
Where th' colors of th' canyun like a picture's 

softly blend. 
Let's go back an' lay a-dreamin' where th' tiger 

lilies grow, 
Where th' hoss-mint an' th' roses all th' love 

of summer know. 

Let's go back an' let us wander in th' twilight, 

you an' I, 
When there's jes' a ghost of glory in th' faint 

an' fadin' sky; 
When th' night-hawks are a-boomin' an' th' 

sleepy oat field's still, 
An' there's shadders in th' gulches an' there's 

shadders on th' hill. 

Let's go back an' go a-trailin' when th' leaves 
are gittin' red, 

When th' squir'lls are talkin' sassy in th' tree- 
tops overhead; 



78 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

When it's gittin' sort o' hazy, with a crispness 

in th' air, 
An' there's gold an' crimson gleamin' on th' 

hillsides ev'rywhere. 

Let's go back where life's worth livin' ; let's go 

back, jes' you an' I, 
Let's go back an' in th' open let us live an' let 

us die. 
Let's go back, big boys together, where we 

uster gladly roam — 
Come now, pardner, let's go trailin', let's go 

trailin' back fer home. 



f- 



THIS MELLER AUTUMN WEATHER 79 



THIS MELLER AUTUMN WEATHER 

Oh, this meller autumn weather, 
When th' chickens fly together 
An' th' hills are wearin' tassels 
Made o' haze; 
An' th' sunshine is so yeller 
That it kinder strikes a feller 
To go driftin' down th' twisty 
Trail a ways. 

Fer 'tis meller autumn weather, 
An' your heart breaks loose from tether, 
An' you want to go an' sense th' 
Piney smell; 
When th' light th' woods adornin' 
At th' break o' th' mornin', 

W T hen th' squirrel gits up an' hollers, 
"All is well!" 

Jes' a-kinder loafm' wander 
Where th' sumach burns out yander, 
An' th' aspens are a-talkin' 
All alone; 



80 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

While th' sky is blue above you, 
An' th' ole pine voices love you 
An' th' hills seem all a-callin' 
Fer their own. 



HOLOWAY 8l 



HOLOWAY 

Holoway, that is his name, 

Guess he hain't much known to fame, 

Lived here in these hills a few, 

Bin to Californy, too. 

Got a ranch jes' down th' crick, 

An' a cabin clean an' slick; 

Fer an ole batch, Holoway 

'Sneater than a pin they say. 

But that hain't a mark 

To the kindness o' him, 

Or a mark to what he can do, 

If you happen around 

With a case of th' blues 

That's eatin' th' heart out o' you. 

Tis then that he'll up 

An' he'll bust you kerbang, 

A slap on th' back an' he'll say, 

"What's th' use o' your mopin', 

You might better smile, 

Fer you look a lot sweeter that way." 



82 1:1 Aik BILLS BALLADS 

Holoway, yes, 1 loloway, 
Hair an' heard a-tnrnin' gray, 
Yet his heart is jes* as young 

As when all his boyhood sung. 

Yes, his heart is jes' as true, 

Got tli' same bright hopin', too, 

Of them days that yon an' me 

Cry into eternity. 

But that hain't his style, 

Fer he always has said, 

What's the use fer to fuss, anyway, 

What's past is sure gone 

An' yon might better live 

Fer what yon ean gather to-day. 

An' then he will up 

An' he'll bust yon kerbang, 

A slap on th' back an' he'll say, 

"What's th' use o' your mopin'. 

Yon might better smile, 

Fer you look a lot sweeter that way." 



Nor BUILT that way 83 



NOT BUILT THAT WAY 

Most folks think it grand to go an' hear th' 
opera an' all, 

Hut don't yon know I'd rather hear th' bine 
jays an' th' squirrels call. 

I'd rather set on some ole rock, out where th' 
meller sunlight gleams, 

An' listen to th' opera of all th' singin' moun- 
tain streams. 

I'd rather set out there an' dream b'neath a 

smilin' sunset sky, 
An' hear th' jack-pines talk an' see th' yaller- 

hammers llyin' high, 
Than go to operas galore, tho' most folks like 

to, so they say ; 
But I am diffrunt; guess b' cause I'm not 'xzact- 

ly built that way. 



84 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THEM WHITE FAIREES 

Them there white fairees jes' go, 
When th' moon is gittin' low, 
An' holler 'cross th' fid's, "Hello! 
Hello ! 
Hello!" 

Bin out air by th' cur'nt row, 
Watched their dwarfy shadders grow, 
An' listuned to that sweet "Hello ! 
Hello ! 
Hello!" 

Bin where th' pine-songs driftin' low, 
Swayed my heart to rapture slow, 
Yet 'bove it all I heard, "Hello ! 
Hello! 
Hello !" 

Night an' stars a-leanin' low, 
An' all th' hills a silunced so, 
But hark, I hear 'em call, "Hello! 
Hello ! 
Hello !" 



THEM WHITE FAIREES 85 

Fer sure, them fairees jes' go, 
When th' moon is gittin' low, 
An' holler 'cross th' fiel's, "Hello! 
Hello! 
Hello!" 



86 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



A WESTERN ER' S LAMENT 

Th' city's no place fer a feller who's used to th' 

life of th' camp, 
Layin' down with th' stars fer companions by 

th' light o' th' heaven's great lamp ; 
With th' smell o' th' hoss-mint an' roses from 

th' canyons so wide an' so deep, 
Where th' crick's talkin' sweet to th' willers 

an' rockin' th' lilies to sleep; 
Where th' whip-o-wills call to th' night time 

an' th' wind sighs soft thro' th' pines, 
An' talks to itself in th' clover or stirs in th' 

raspberry vines, 
Or kisses th' tips of th' foxglove or down in th' 

dusk an' th' gloom, 
A-wooin' with tender caressin' th' dark little 

violet's bloom. 

The city's no place fer a feller whose heart is 

built on th' plan 
Of freedom from styles an' from fashion like 

th' heart of a natural man ; 



a westerner's lament 87 

Whose hand's ever out to th' stranger, whose 

home is his while he stays, 
Who's tryin' to be a straightforward man in 

these coin-chasing days. 
Th' city's no place fer a feller who's pillowed 

his head on th' sod, 
Alone with th' stars fer companions, alone with 

himself an' his God ; 
Alone where th' stream tells a story to th' 

canyon so wide an' so deep, 
Alone where th' voices of nature sing his heart 

an' its troubles to sleep. 



88 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



HOMESICKNESS 

A man is he, 

From God's country ; 

A private in the infantry; 

Foreign service — Philippines, 

Well, any rook knows what that means. 



When they sound "lights out" an' th' quarters 

git quiet, 
With the stillness as deep as oceans of 

gloom ; 
An' nettin's pulled down o'er th' cots an' jes' 

seemin' 
Like white hearses standin' around th' dim 

room. 

Then, oh, say, 

It gits lonesome, 

An' a feller can't help it. 

He can't sleep, so his thoughts 

Git away and they roam 

To th' lights an' th' music 

An' sweet-soundin' voices, 



HOMESICKNESS 89 

On a night at th' place 
That his heart loves as home. 

When they sound "lights out" an' there hain't 
nothin' doin', 
An you smoke 'till tobacco hain't got any 
taste ; 
An' then you turn over, but still your mind 
travels 
Back, back to that country across th' white 
waste. 
Seems to me that I'm hearin' Hallie Jonsus' 
pianner, 
An' they're havin' a soshal out on her dad's 
lawn ; 
Seems to me that I'm talkin' to all th' town 
people — 
Tho' it's been a long lifetime since first I 
"took on." 

"Lights out, lights out," an' a-thinkin', an' 
thinkin'. 
What's the use of it all you ask, an' you 
hark, 
An' the palms near th' winder a-whisperin' 
answer, 
"What's th' use, what's th' use; you're alone 
in th' dark." 



90 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Then, oh, say, 

It gits lonesome, 

An' a feller can't help it. 

He can't sleep, so his thoughts 

Git away and they roam 

To th' lights an' th' music 

An' sweet-soundin' voices, 

On a night at th' place 

That his heart loves as home. 



Manila 
1808 



THE WAY OF THE REGULAR gi 



THE WAY OF THE REGULAR 

Reg'ler soldier, such they name me — bin that 
way fer twenty years. 

Arizona, Injun-fightin' ; Cuba, helpin' volun- 
teers. 

Googoos got some malo feelin's after Old 
Manila's fall, 

Then we takes a hike to China — up against that 
heathen wall ; 

Which Pekin was good, however, loot there 

was with the advance, 
But a reg'ler wouldn't touch it — not unless he 

got a chance. 
Fightin', yes, an' foreign service, sights an' 

things to fill your eyes, 
Heathen gods an' heathen people, heathen 

lands an' heathen skies. 

An' I'm here in 'Frisco loafin' — clean discharge 

an' mucho tin, 
An' I'm sayin', my amigo, that I won't take on 

agin. 



92 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

No, siree ! I'm thro' with hikin' an' the service 

has my scorn — 
Shave-tail, I was fightin' plenty 'fore your 

shoulder-straps were born. 

Then you came around all snarly, "Dress up, 

there! Say, can't you see?" 
"Front!" you yell, you kid of twenty, lookin' 

bayonits at me. 
An' you fill my soul with feelin's of extreme 

an' great fertig, 
With your way of doin' business, like a private 

was a pig. 

Why, the service's gone to blazes; everything 

is clear N. G., 
An' you bet your extra pesos that the same is 

shut of me. 
Fer I'm here in 'Frisco loafin' — clean discharge 

an' mucho tin. 
An' I'm say in', my amigo, that I won't take on 

agin. 

LATER 

Well, say! I jes' got lonesome, couldn't stand 
it much nohow, 



THE WAY OF THE REGULAR 93 

This civilian life's a dead one, mucho malo I'll 

allow. 
Loafed around an' spent denero till no mas of 

such I had, 
Got to thinkin' that the service wasn't — well, 

oh, not so bad. 
Chow an' quarters an' a bunkie, an' your clock 

a bugle call, 
Once a soldier, soldier always ; you can't help 

it, that is all. 
Queerest thing, you git so lonesome, honestly, 

that's what you will, 
Actually you git clear homesick fer inspection 

or a drill. 
So I quit the game of loafin' when I'd spent my 

travel tin; 
Say, amigo, I feel better since I have took on 

agin. 

Manila 
1808 

Reprinted by 

Permission of 

Collier's Weekly 



Q4 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



MAKERS OF MEN 
"We had to shoot lead into those Filippinos so that 

they would stand Still long enough for the Aiueriean 

school teacher to shoot knowledge into their children, 
and so the government could force the outfit to be 
brown men with white men's hearts." — Remark of 
Private Green, 33d U, S. Infantry. 

There was Ruby of Dakota an' a Van from old 

New York, 
An' O'Hara fresh from Ireland, whose father 

lived in Cork ; 
There was Placer Pete from Idaho, one Injun 

with a name 
'Twould cramp your tongue, amigo, to twist 

around tlf same. 
There was Hanson, a Norwegian, who lived 

up near St. Paul, 
An' for a true American that feller capped 

them all ; 
There was a dude from somewhere, he was 

boloed later on, 
An' a squad went out an' got him at th' 

breakin' o' th' dawn — 



MAKERS OF MEN 95 

But such were th' men that went with me, 
To a burnin' place across th* sea, 
Where hope was dead an' men died for 
Sonic things not told in th' rules of war. 
What's th' use to tell th' story, what's th' use 

to tell th' rest, 
How Ruhy died a-coughin' with a Mauser 

thro' his chest; 
How Placer Pete defended his lone outpost 'til 

beside 
His pile o' em'ty cartridges th' feller down an' 

died. 
An' th' Injun took his medicine an' Hanson 

took his, too, 
With a badge o' red adornin' each ole faded 

shirt o' blue — 

For such were th' men that went with me, 
To a burnin' place across th' sea, 
Where hope was dead an' men died for 
Some things not told in th' rules o' war. 

What was th' reason, ask you, that called that 

this be done, 
In a land where white men babble with th' 

sickness o' th' sun? 



96 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

An' I'm here to answer promptly that they 

gave their lives away 
That eight million brown-skinned people might 

see a better day ; 
Might know th' light o' knowledge, might 

learn to rally to 
Th' colors that we carried all that killin' hikin' 

thro' — 

For such were th' men that went with me, 
To a burnin' place across th' sea, 
Where hope was dead an' men died for 
Some things not told in th' rules o' war. 



THE ROSES THE FLORIST DON'T KEEP 97 



THE ROSES THE FLORIST DON'T KEEP 

When the frost-laden winds nip her little pug 

nose and flirt with her rude front hair, 
Then you'll see in her cheeks the roses a-bloom 

in a garden of freckles there. 
They're the roses you have a desire to wear 

on your shoulder when papa's asleep; 
They're the roses, red roses, caressed by the 

wind, they're the roses the florist don't 

keep. 

When she sails down the street and the boister- 
ous snow sifts down from the heaven 
above, 

And finds in her cheek a heaven below, and 
melts in a spasm of love — 

Then the roses — American Beauties — flame 
out, and the price you would think 
wasn't steep, 

If you only could buy a bouquet for your heart 
of those roses the florist don't keep. 



98 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

And again, when you tell her, or when you 

infer, that your mind won't permit you 

to rest; 
And that it's unsettled from thinking of her, 

and you want her for bad or for best; 
You will notice the blush give the dimples a 

fright, and the bloom of the roses will 

creep 
In her cheeks, and will tell you the words she 

can't say, will those roses the florist 

don't keep. 



WHEN SHE GOES TO GIT TH MAIL 99 



WHEN SHE GOES TO GIT TH' MAIL 

She hain't got any dimunds nor a rustlin' lot of 

silk, 
Never uses them cosmetics, never bathes her 

face in milk; 
But she's jes' a little chicken livin' out there 

by th' trail, 
That a feller meets a-Sunday when she goes 

to git th' mail. 
When she goes to git th' mail an' th' sunset's 

gittin' pale, 
An' th' grass is like a carpet long th' ole Pactola 

trail, 
When she goes to git th' mail, allers meet her 

without fail, 
Jes' to stroll home thro' th' twilight on th' ole 

Pactola trail. 

Freckles, yes, but lips of honey, nose turns up 

a bit, I guess, 
An' there's jes' a scad of patches in her little, 

homely dress; 

LofC. 



100 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

But I'd rather, rather have her than most 

others that I know, 
Because well, honest Injun, jes' because I love 

her so. 
When she goes to git th' mail, an' th' sunset's 

gittin' pale, 
An' th' grass is like a carpet long th' ole 

Pactola trail, 
When she goes to git th' mail, allers meet her 

without fail, 
Jes' to stroll home thro' th' twilight on th' ole 

Pactola trail. 

Left her one night lookin' back with th' tear- 
shine in her eyes, 

An' her voice were sorter trembly like most 
women's when they cries, 

An' I've roamed th' dreary country from the 
start to ev'rywhere, 

But somehow I'm allers thinkin' that I left my 
heart back there. 

When she goes to git th' mail, an' th' sunset's 
gittin' pale, 

An' th' grass is like a carpet long th' ole 
Pactola trail, 



WHEN SHE GOES TO GIT TH* MAIL 101 

When she goes to git th' mail, allers meet her 

without fail, 
Jes' to stroll home thro' th' twilight on th' ole 

Pactola trail. 



102 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



YOU'D BETTER KEEP A-SMILIN' 

You'd better keep a-smilin' an' a-drivin' back 

the tears, fer tears don't pay nohow; 
So you'd better keep a-smilm' 'stead o' mopin' 

thro' th' years, an' have your good time 

now. 
You'd better keep a-smilin' while you have 

your swing, tho' tears will come, I 

know; 
But you jes' keep a-smilin', fer smilin' takes 

the sting right out th' bite o' woe. 
You'd better keep a-smilin', kinder limber up 

your face, an' quit th' lost-hope crowd; 
Fer long's you keep a-smilin' sorrer's slackin' 

up her pace, so smile an' smile out loud. 



PART II 



DAWN IN THE BLACK HILLS 105 



DAWN IN THE BLACK HILLS 

Grotesque and dim doth loom the Hills, 
The cool west wind is blowing; 

The air a subtle fragrance spills, 
While pink the east is glowing. 

From off the craggy wooded height, 
The ghostly mists are lifting; 

To join the minions of the night, 
To utter darkness drifting. 

Emblazoned lies the eastern sky, 
A thousand birds are sinking; 

And o'er the rugged hill-tops high, 
The song of day is ringing. 



106 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE PINES SING WILD AND THE WINDS 
ARE FREE 

Oh, the peaks loom white against the sky, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free; 
And the sluices roar and the foam leaps high, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free. 
The sunset's flame is tinged with gold. 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free; 
The gods of to-day are the gods of old, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free. 

Thro' mist and rain and spring-storm's strife, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free; 
And opening buds and the dawn of life, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free. 
Come away with me thro' shine and rain, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free, 
We'll splash thro' the flood in the mountain 
lane, 

The pines sing wild and the winds are free. 

Come away with me, the canyon's dim, 
The pines sing wild and the winds are free; 



THE PINES SING WILD AND THE WINDS ARE FREE 107 

There's greenish tufts on the aspen slim, 
The pines sing wild and the winds are free. 

There's a song for you and a song for me, 
The pines sing wild and the winds are free, 

'Tis the spring's own sweet, sweet minstrelsy, 
The pines sing wild and the winds are free. 



108 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



ON THE TRAIL TO SLEEPYVILLE 

On the trail to Sleepyville, 

Sleepyville, Sleepyville ; 
Loaf and loiter as you will, 

On the trail to Sleepyville. 

There the purpling sunsets glow, 
And the crimson poppies grow ; 
And the tiger lilies bend, 
Where the mountain rivers wend. 
There the dusky fairies sing, 
And the wanton roses fling 
Gifts of fragrance everywhere. 
On the mellow summer air. 

On the trail to Sleepyville, 

Sleepyville, Sleepyville ; 
Loaf and loiter as you will, 

On the trail to Sleepyville. 

There the spirits of the June, 
Thro' the pine trees softly croon, 
And bright heaven's glory lies, 
On the peaks that kiss the skies. 



ON THE TRAIL TO SLEEPYVILLE I OO, 

There from dawn to vesper chime, 
It is ever dreaming time. 
And the summer, matchless fair, 
Reigns a queen forever there. 

On the trail to Sleepville, 

Sleepyville, Sleepy ville ; 
Loaf and loiter as yon will, 

On the trail to Sleepyville. 



HO BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



GREEN PRAIRIES 

Green prairies, green prairies, 
All drenched in the rain, 
Or a-gleam in the dance 
Of the sunbeams again 
In the sheen and the shine, 
Of the dawn and the light; 
Or the murk and the gloom 
Of the shadows of night, 
In hearts that have known thee 
Thy memories reign, 
And thy voices clear calling, 
Call never in vain. 



JUNE IN THE HILLS III 



JUNE IN THE HILLS 

Now the golden summer sunlight, 

Gleams athwart and thro' the pines, 
And the fragrant breath of June-time, 

Stirs the tangle in the vines. 
And the echoes from the canyons, 

Drift in ecstasy along — 
Drift in ecstasy and languor, 

On a tide of liquid song. 

Lo, with flash of purple fire, 

Comes the sunset edged with gold, 
With amethysts and rubies 

Burning, glinting thro' the fold 
Of clouds, rich crimson-tinted, 

Growing fainter, fainter still, 
Til the land is steeped in twilight 

And the shadows haunt the hill. 

Now the tender, mystic starlight, 
Thrills the fairy haunts of June, 

Silvery glancing where the willows, 
Bend to hear the river's tune. 



112 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Where the crickets sing together, 
And the daisies light the sod, 

And the musky, dusky night-nymphs, 
Chant a symphony to God. 



SILHOUETTE IN SEPIA 113 



SILHOUETTE IN SEPIA 

The camp's asleep and thro' the gloom, 
The white-topped wagons spectral loom; 
And weird the lonesome coyotes call, 
And quiet stars stand watch o'er all. 
The fire's down — the shadows creep, 
Their work is done — the camp's asleep. 



114 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



WELCOME, MISS MAY 

By the way, Miss May, you are coming, they 
say, 

With your blossoms and bees, 

And green-mantled trees; 

And your songs by the way, 

Each sunshiny day, 
'Til we can't help it say you are welcome, 
Miss May, 

Welcome, thrice welcome, 

Miss May, Miss May. 

By the way, Miss May, with your robes flaunt- 
ing gay, 

With your violets blue, 

All gemmed with the dew, 

And the paths that we stray, 

Thro' the moonlight away, 
Make us love you and love you, Miss May, 
Miss May, 

Love you and love you, 

Miss May, Miss May. 



FLOOD-SONG OF THE MOUNTAINS 115 



FLOOD-SONG OF THE MOUNTAINS 

Rain-drenched rest the spruices, 

The water-worn sluices, 
Run high with the floods of the year's cleans- 
ing time; 

While the echo-haunts thunder 

The towering cliffs under, 
A lost river moans where the cave-voices chime. 

Where shaggy pines wander 

O'er crags looming yonder, 
The wind sobs for aye like a mortal in pain ; 

And mists roll in masses 

Thro' flame-blackened passes, 
Gray warriors with plumes all a-drip in the 
rain. 

Wildly sweet is the singing 

Of glad torrents bringing 
Fair gifts to the plains and the valleys below ; 

Fair gifts of green bowers 

And grass-sheltered flowers, 
And all of the joys that the spring-spirits know. 



Il6 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



LEGEND OF THE CHINOOK 

The west wind wooed the blushing rose, 
And blow her kisses sweet with musk. 
From dawn of day until the stars 
Shone tenderly thro' purple dusk. 

The west wind wooed the blushing rose, 
And sang to her a heart-song true; 
And plaeed upon her head a crown 
Of sunshine's gold begemmed with dew. 

The west wind wed the blushing rose. 
Embowered there in leafy nook, 
And heaven blessed their first born fair, 
The fragrant and the warm Chinook. 



AH, THERE, MISS VIOLET 117 



AH, THERE, MISS VIOLET 

Ah, there, Miss Violet, 
You're the most unkind coquette, 
That the bonny spring has met, 
Violet, blue violet. 

First you hid yourself away, 
Where the deepest shadows lay, 
Where the ferns bent over you, 
And the waving grasses, too, 
Hid your slender form from view. 
Then when other buds adorned 
All the hillsides, you that scorned 
Our advances in those days 
Of sweet April, swift your ways 
Did mend, and in the May-time air, 
You jumped up most everywhere. 

Ah, there, Miss Violet, 
You're the most unkind coquette, 
That the bonny spring has met, 
Violet, blue violet. 



Il8 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE SHAMELESS STREAM 

Hear its tinkle and its chime, 
All the scented summer time, 
Hear its music o'er the lisping 

Of the trees ; 
Where its glinting waters pass, 
Hear it talking to the grass, 
Hear it singing in the sunshine 

With the bees. 

Hear it sighing tender, sweet, 

At the tiger lily's feet, 

Hear it laughing when the fragrant 

Chinook blows; 
Hear it whispering thro' the dells, 
Hear the tale the rover tells, 
To the lovely and the willful 

Little rose. 

Hear it telling all the while, 
In its heartless merry style, 
Every bud or grass it kisses 
On the way ; 



THE SHAMELESS STREAM IIQ 

That old, ancient tale of yore, 
That it never had before, 
Kissed a flower 'til that very 
Time of day. 

Hear its tinkle and its chime 
All the scented summer time, 
Hear its music o'er the lisping 

Of the trees; 
Where its glinting waters pass, 
Hear it talking to the grass, 
Hear it singing in the sunshine 

With the bees. 



120 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



PRAIRIE WOLVES 

Up where the white bluffs fringe the plain, 
When heaven's lights are on the wane ; 
They sing their songs as demons might 
Shriek wild a chorus to the night. 
Gaunt, gray brutes with dripping fangs, 
And eyes a-flame with hunger pangs ; 
With lips curled back in snarls of hate, 
They wail a curse against their fate. 



THE RATTLESNAKE 121 



THE RATTLESNAKE 

O'er sunbaked plains he winds his way, 
Slow squirms his glittering length along; 
And from the sage brush sanded gray, 
Doth come his fearful warning song. 
Watch, watch for him, his sting is death, 
And in those angry, flaming eyes 
Doth lurk the awful hate of years. 

Sunning where the barren bluff's arise, 
He lies in lazy coil. The scaly lid 
Doth curtain o'er those vengeful eyes ; 
Doth hold their murderous fire hid — 
When lo, a step is heard, the horrid head 
Is swiftly reared, and keen he sounds 
A challenge full of deathless hate. 



122 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



MARCH ON THE PLAINS 

Shadow-shapes of skulking wolves along the 

bluffs, 
They prey upon some weakling of the herd. 
Snow-mottled all the prairie lies, 
The sky an ashen gray, the sunlight blurred. 
Gone, gone, are all the hopes that bloomed 
In summers past, 'neath skies of blue; 
But see ! a crocus in a bed of snow, 
Ah, hope of summer blooms anew. 



THE WESTERN TRAIL 123 



THE WESTERN TRAIL 
A SIOUX VERSION 

In the beginning the Great Spirit gave the 

prairie rare gifts : 
The mirage, the warm rains of springtime, the 

grasses and the flowers; 
The buffalo, the village by the river and the 

children basking in the sun. 
Happy were we then, O, my people ! 
But from the East a white warrior came and 

with a mighty arrow wounded the 

prairie ; 
And the grasses and the flowers withered and 

the herds and villages melted away — 
Melted, O, my people ! as the snow melts before 

the Chinook. 
In time the wound healed, but a scar was left — 

a long, white scar across the prairie's 

breast. 



124 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



SILENCES OF THE NIGHT 

Silences of the night — 

Adown the sky's blue way, 

Hand in hand the smiling stars, 
Like happy children stray. 

Silences of the night — 

Cloud-white the glory gleams, 
As tenderly God's angel 

Doth drape the world in dreams. 



HONOLULU 125 



HONOLULU 

Honolulu, Honolulu, 

Ah, the languor of thy eyes, 
Deep the glory of the heavens 

In their starlight splendor lies. 
Midnight tresses — perfume laden, 

Poppies sleeping on thy breast, 
And the whitened sheen of moonlight, 

On thy throat and round arms rest. 

Honolulu, Honolulu, 

Sweet thy lips and scarlet warm ; 
Rich thy robe whose silken smoothness, 

Shows the curvings of thy form. 
Rich thou art in hearts, proud beauty, 

Languid queen o'er southern sea, 
Who would not dare heaven's anger, 

Just to reign a king with thee? 



Honolulu 
1899 



126 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



JUST FOR YOU 

Maid of summer, lilies quiver 
All along the mountain river, 
Thro' the dawn and thro' the dew 
All the bird-songs are for you. 
Maid, the roses and the dreaming 
Of the dusk and all the gleaming 
Of the stars up in the blue 
Are for you and just for you. 

Sweet, you hold the June enchanted, 
All the streams are music-haunted; 
Low they murmur tender, true, 
Love's dear secrets just for you. 
Maid of summer o'er the hushes 
Of the eventide, the thrushes 
Sound their flutes and crickets, too, 
Twang their banjos just for you. 

Deep and sad the pines are sighing, 
And the quaken asps are crying 
All the murky midnight thro', 
Just for you, O, just for you. 



JUST FOR YOU 127 

Breath of flowers, scent of meadows, 
All the weird and shifting - shadows 
That the lonely woodlands view 
Are for you and just for you. 

Starlight tangled in thy tresses 
That the lover-wind caresses ; 
Arms that beck and luring gleam, 
White as moonlight on the stream. 
Voice as soft as fairy laughter, 
Or the echoes that come after, 
All that Love can offer true, 
Is for you and just for you. 



128 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



PICTURES THREE 

Mirroring the glories of tinted skies, 
The dreamful lake unruffled lies ; 
The sun the hills' dark heads enfold 
In a dazzling mantle of beaten gold, 
And sunset comes. 

The sky grows dim, a grayish light — 
A ghostly forerunner of the night — 
Creeps down the mountain's ragged crest, 
And soothes the valleys all to rest, 
And twilight comes. 

The moon glides up clad in a shroud 
Of a delicate fragment of fleecy cloud, 
The pines moan shrill and the shadows creep 
And the childish brook sobs itself to sleep, 
And night-time comes. 



PART III 



THE SONGS I'D LIKE TO SING 13* 



THE SONGS I'D LIKE TO SING 

Those sweet, sweet songs I'd like to sing, 
they'd tell of all the splendor 

Of summer skies and summer dawns and sum- 
mer sunsets tender. 

They'd tell of all the fairy bells thro' purple 
dusk-time chiming, 

Their tinklings clear and silver sweet, with all 
the echoes rhyming. 

They'd tell of all the lips that thrill with love's 

enthralling blisses; 
They'd tell of eyes caressing eyes, and all the 

blind god's kisses; 
They'd tell of dreams by happy streams, where 

bends the blue sky over, 
And songs of birds and drone of bees among 

the fragrant clover. 

Those, sweet, sweet songs I'd like to sing, 
they'd tell pure childhood's story, 

The innocence, the care-free heart, and all of 
youth's bright glory. 



132 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

They'd echo e'en the laughter blithe, when 

childish footsteps airy, 
Along the pathway from the school just for a 

moment tarry. 

Those sweet, sweet songs I'd like to sing, 
they'd tell of hearts o'erflowing 

With love that makes a hovel seem a palace 
warm and glowing. 

They'd tell of good deeds and the words of 
kindness to another, 

They'd tell of strong and willing hands out- 
stretched to help a brother. 

They'd tell of Hope, robed angel-like, the queen 
of Land To-morrow, 

Who conquers ever all the hordes of pain, de- 
spair and sorrow. 

Those sweet, sweet songs I'd like to sing, 
they'd tell of light and laughter, 

And happiness, contentment and a home in 
heaven after. 



THE GuOD IN SORROW I33 



THE GOOD IN SORROW 

On the corner the blind man played and played, 

While the hurrying crowd surged by, 
But never a tinkling coin he heard, 

Until with somber eye 
And lips stern-drawn with grief and pain, 

And face all worn and gray, 
A man stepped out from the throng and gave 

A coin, and walked away. 

On the corner the blind man played and played, 

Played sweet, "A Soul's Lament," 
But never a soul did halt to fling 

That soul a copper cent, 
Until a woman with tear-drenched cheeks, 

And dreary, mourning gown, 
Paused there by his side and in the cup, 

A silver coin dropped down. 

On the corner the blind man played and played, 

And he played a sweet, sad air ; 
But none but those to heartaches known, 

Left tokens of pity there. 



134 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

For sorrow makes the world akin, 
As eyes with tears grow dim, 

But the blind man never knew that pain 
Filled up the cup for him. 



WHEN SHE PLAYS I35 



WHEN SHE PLAYS 

Dainty, slender, each white finger, all tremu- 
lous they linger, 
On the gleaming ivory linger tenderly; 
And the lamplight on her tresses — growing 
faint with fond excesses — 
Every gleaming strand caresses lovingly. 

Storm of passion and the singing of the sea 

a message bringing, 

To the sands a message bringing sobbingly ; 

Undertones wove from the crying of the waves 

the wind defying, 

Of the waves the wind defying mockingly. 

Dreams of brook-song never-ending, all the 
sylvan music blending, 
All the sylvan music blending goldenly; 
Pipes o' Pan and moon-haunts dusky, Pipes o' 
Pan and twilight musky, 
Pipes o' Pan and twilight musky, hauntingly. 

Old World secrets mystifying, see her fingers 
swift descrying, 



I36 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Fairy fingers swift descrying happily; 
Life and Death and Love full tender, Hate and 
all of Glory's splendor, 
Hate and all of Glory's splendor, thrillingly. 

Dainty, slender, each white finger, there they 
linger, linger, linger, 
On the gleaming ivory linger tenderly; 
And the lamplight glows above her, and a 
shadow bends to love her, 
And a shadow bends to love her hopelessly. 



THE DOOM OF THE LOITERER 1 37 



THE DOOM OF THE LOITERER 

Thus spake the Masters to him who trod 
The path that led away from God : 
"Mock not, we know thee, know thy ways, 
Thy puny strength, thy small-spanned days ; 
Thy boastings bubble-built and all 
Thy lustful heart doth fondly call 
Contentment sweet. 

"Braggart art thou, thy feeble trust 
Rests tottering on crumbling dust. 
A flute-voiced siren calls to thee, 
And thou dost hearken breathlessly. 
Thy reward? Thou hast none to claim, 
Lest 'tis eternal, lasting shame 
And agony. 

"Why should we repentant tears assuage, 
From thee thou flungest heritage. 
Naked thou dost stand alone. 
And Death a withered, black-gowned crone, 
With hollow laugh and ghastly leer, 
Doth fill thy cringing soul with fear — 
The end! The end!" 



I38 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE WELCOME ONE 
I. 

We want not the sad-voiced singer, 

Away, 'tis untold pain 
To hark to his dreary chanting, 

His sad and solemn strain. 
Away with the one who's burdened 

With gloom and smiles grown dim, 
A hopeless, mourning specter, 

Away, away with him. 

II. 

And ho, for the rippling laughter, 

Up from the meadow way, 
And the simple-hearted minstrel 

Trilling a roundelay. 
To him we will ever listen, 

We'll encore every part, 
For he sings a song that echoes 

Forever in the heart. 



THE BEST 139 



THE BEST 

One hoarded gold 

And spent his soul 

In long pursuit of wealth. 

One chose power 

That he might grind 

Beneath his heel 

His fellow man. 

And yet another chose 

False pleasure 

In her scented court, 

Garlanded with flowers, 

And on her hair the heavy 

Scent of musk. 

But in the end 

They tasted of 

The bitter draught 

Of discontent. 

But there was one, 

A man, white of soul 

And pure of heart, 

Who sought not these things 

But strove to live 



140 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

So that he might look back 

O'er all the years 

And behold no haunting 

Specter of regret. 

He had not gold, 

Nor power; 

Of pleasure he knew not, 

But in the end 

He found content. 



TEARS I4 1 



TEARS 

Tears, 

Tears, 

Tears, 
Thro' all the years, 
The dreary years, 

Tears, 

Tears, 

Tears. 

Oh, the tears of the babe 

On the young mother's breast, 
And the quavering cries 

And the soothing to rest. 
Sleep, little one, sleep, 

And away with thy fears, 
Both lo, e'en in slumber, 

Come the sighs and the tears. 

Oh, the tears of a mother 

With heart all forlorn, 
As swift from her bosom 

Her dear one is torn; 



142 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

And down thro' the silence 

Of all the dead years, 
Comes the wail against Fate 

And the tears — bitter tears. 

Oh, the tears of a maiden — 

Her first taste of pain, 
The one whom she loved 

Lies there with the slain; 
And her white hands strain upward 

And upward to God, 
While her tears — her bright tears, 

Fall fast on the sod. 

Oh, the tears of a man, 

Ah, a man never cries, 
'Tis a pain in the throat 

And an ache in the eyes. 
And a struggle to master 

The curses that burn 
In his heart against Fate 

And her last cruel turn. 

Oh, the tears of the world, 
Thro' the centuries shed, 

By the nations now numbered 
Out there with the dead. 



TEARS 143 



But God is a just God, 
So calm all thy fears, 

But hark! hear the sobs! 
And the tears — bitter tears. 

Tears, 

Tears, 

Tears, 
Thro' all the years, 
The dreary years, 

Tears, 

Tears, 

Tears. 



144 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



TO THE ONLY ONE 

A hillside gemmed with roses 

And the roses splashed with dew, 
And a June-time moon a-smiling 

From a gleamy sky of blue. 
A patch of fragrant clover, 

Where the trail goes winding thro', 
And a cricket telling stories 

Something like I've told to you. 

A night bird in the thicket, 

Singing soft and singing slow, 
Calling for its mate a-hiding 

In the aspens just below^- 
Sweetest songs like mellow moonbeams 

Melted into music true, 
Songs without no words, my honey, 

Something like I've sang to you. 

A canyon dimmed with shadows 

And the pines up overhead, 
A-whispering sad and lonesome, 

Now the golden day is dead. 



TO THE ONLY ONE 145 

A stream a-laughing tender 

To the foxglove bending blue, 
Telling her a story, honey, 

Something like I've told to you. 

l/envoi 

Starlight, starlight, scent of flowers, 

Sleeping woods and dreaming skies, 
What's their glory to the splendor 

Of your dancing, western eyes? 
Streams a-laughing, crickets chirping; 

Wood-haunt voices tinkling thro', 
Singing heart songs, sweet songs, honey, 

Something like I've sang to you. 



I46 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THE COAT IN THE PAWNSHOP DOOR 

Faded, frayed, its seams all worn, its color past 

redeeming, 
A memory of other days, perchance, when Love 

was dreaming, 
And some fair head upon its breast sought 

tender consolation, 
While 'neath its cloth a manly heart throbbed 

out in adoration. 

» 

Perhaps, in other days, there fell upon its yet 
black shoulder 

A baby's hand, her fingers in the creases, just 
to hold her; 

Then darkness came and hid away Love's fair- 
est, dearest token, 

And tear drops on that breast told of a mother's 
heartstrings broken. 

Merciless old Time reaped on. Ah, cruel are 

the traces 
Upon that faded, frayed, old coat that now the 

pawnshop graces, 



THE COAT IN THE PAWNSHOP DOOR 147 

With sweet and bitter memories, eve' tho' it is 

just only 
A worn-out, shapeless, old, old coat, forlorn 

and sadly lonely. 



I48 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



YOU WENT A W A Y 

You went away and now no more, 

The lilies kiss the stream ; 
The wind is hushed, the night bird still, 

The cottonwoods in shadow dream. 
You went away and now no more 

The prairie's mystery 
Doth bind my soul in moonlight chains, 

In rhapsody enthralling me. 

You went away and now no more 

The song along the trail, 
When night-nymphs fling across the sky 

A gold bespangled azure veil. 
You went away and now no more 

The dusk or e'en the dawn 
Doth hold for me sweet witchery, 

Since all the hope of Love is gone. 



JUST YESTERDAY 149 



JUST YESTERDAY 

'Twas yesterday you smiled and Hope 
Reached out her helping- hands to you; 
'Twas yester eve the tracery 
Of golden stars gleamed thro' the blue. 
'Twas yesterday you smiled and love 
Swung wide its shining gates for you — 
When lo, to-day has dawned — the clouds 
Drift down the sky in drear array — 
Adown the sky that seemed so fair. 
Just yesterday — just yesterday. 

'Twas yesterday you smiled and thought 
Yourself secure and sorrow-proof; 
You fancied want and misery 
From you would ever hold aloof. 
Confidence and pride and strength, 
And in yourself unholy trust. 
When lo, to-day your pride is crushed 
And humbled in the common dust. 

'Twas yesterday you smiled and gazed 
Adown the path of happy years — 



150 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

A way of flowers, laughing streams — 
When lo, to-day doth well the tears 
Up from a broken heart that sang 
A rippling, merry roundelay 
To all the world, so happy then, 
Just yesterday — just yesterday. 



DREAMS YOU DREAM I5 1 



DREAMS YOU DREAM 

They come to you in the dreams you dream, 
The red gold's glint and the diamond's gleam; 
The glimmering silk and the laces rare, 
And musk from the Isles of Overthere. 

They come to you in the dreams you dream, 
As shackled serfs in an endless stream ; 
Kings — vanquished kings — to kiss the hand 
Of you — the ruler of all the land. 

There is music fine in the dreams you dream, 
And hauntingly sweet are the songs that seem 
To float from the space of heaven's blue, 
And into the dreams swift dreamed by you. 

There are fragrant groves that wan lights rim, 
In the ghostly hours of the twilight dim ; 
There rest and peace your tears redeem, 
In the mystic realms of the dreams you dream. 

But ever to all of the dreams you dream, 
Awakenings come, and the tinseled gleam 



152 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Of Pleasure's court by the rose-strewn way, 
You thought pure gold — is dust to-day. 

Reality, Fate — the twain doth call, 
The world is real, and the somber pall 
Is but the beginning of joys that seem 
So sweet to you in the dreams you dream. 



the world's desire 153 



THE WORLD'S DESIRE 

Mirth, give us mirth in the trail of the jest, 
Or a smile with a touch of sweet sympathy 

blest ; 
Or tears — happy tears — they're humanity's 

part, 
They're diamonds — bright diamonds — mined 

down in the heart. 
Give us music sweet as the songs of the rills, 
That rush from the shades of the pine-black 

hills. 
Give us love and joy and fling far away 
The saws and the screeds of the wise to-day; 
We want but the scent of Love's roses mild, 
That bloom in the heart of an innocent child. 



154 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



THY VOICE 

Even as the music haunts the strings, 
And on the hour of midnight rings 
Sweet melodies and tender lays 
That speak the joys of other days, 
So doth thy sweet voice 
Haunt my heart. 

Even as the melody of dreams, 
In memory far sweeter seems, 
And faint the dreamer ever hears 
Its haunting echoes thro' the years, 
So doth thy sweet voice 
Haunt my heart. 



HER EYES 155 



HER EYES 

Her eyes, her eyes, 
What witchery lies, 
In the smile-haunted depths 
Of her beautiful eyes! 

And when I wander by the streams, 
That silver all the Land o' Dreams, 
Where lilies bend 'neath cloudless skies, 
And lark-songs with the dawns arise, 
Or at the twilight's mystic hush, 
Awakes the velvet-throated thrush, 
I dream of naught beneath the skies 
But her dear eyes — but her dear eyes. 

Her eyes, her eyes, 
What witchery lies, 
In the smile-haunted depths 
Of her beautiful eyes ! 

They smile to me, they smile to me, 
In all their tender witchery ; 
From where the ghostly shadows play, 
Along the mem'ry-hallowed way. 



156 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

They smile to me and then alone 
I look across to the Unknown, 
Into the Great Eternity. 
But still they smile and smile to me. 

Her eyes, her eyes, 
What witchery lies, 
In the smile-haunted depths 
Of her beautiful eyes! 



THE ROSES OF LOVE 1 57 



THE ROSES OF LOVE 

The roses of Love bloom red by the stream, 
Great clusters of crimson with petals a-gleam ; 
In sunshine and rain, in starlight and dew, 
They're nodding and nodding and nodding for 

you. 
They bloom thro' the days of God's summer- 
time, 
When sweet in your dreams the fairy bells 

chime; 
And castles of air you roam thro' and thro', 
Those bright gilded halls that Hope builds 
for you. 

Make haste while they bend in beauteous bloom, 
And gladden your heart with their matchless 

perfume ; 
Make haste, go and pluck them out under the 

blue, 
They're nodding and nodding and nodding 

for you. 
Make haste, for the summer is speeding away, 



158 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

And they'll wither and mould in the Autumn's 

decay. 
Go out 'neath the sky, they are waiting there 

true, 
And nodding and nodding and nodding for you. 



I HAVE SANG TO THEE, LOVE 159 



/ HAVE SANG TO THEE, LOVE 

I have sang to thee, love, of the days to come, 

In the sweet by and by, my dear ; 

When the wild roses nod 'mid the tall golden 

rod, 
And summer enchanteth the year. 
I have sang to thee, love, when thy heart was 

cold, 
And the ghost of a dying day, 
The wan twilight thro' beckoned sadly to you, 
And lured every hope far away. 

I have sang to thee, love, of a heart as true 

As the promise of God, my dear; 

In the silence alone, I have whispered, mine 

own, 
Thou hast nothing, O, nothing to fear. 
I have sang to thee, love, of the days to come, 
Wilt thou ever have faith, my dear? 
In the silence alone, I have whispered, mine 

own, 
Thou hast nothing, O, nothing to fear. 



l60 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



PERHAPS 

Perhaps, beyond the weary years, 
Beyond the sound of sobs and tears, 

There're fairer days, 

There're fairer days, 
When 'cross the fields the sunshine plays, 
And all the days bring happiness, 
And for each soul a soft caress. 

Perhaps, beyond the shades of gloom, 
Where specter shapes thro' shadows loom, 
There're golden noons, 
There're golden noons, 
When low the bloom-banked river croons 
A song to you, while calm doth lie 
The fragrant mead 'neath dreaming sky. 

Perhaps, beyond this reign of pain, 
A dear heart waits for you again, 

'Neath shining stars, 

'Neath shining stars, 
When night her glory realm unbars ; 
And hope and tenderness release, 
The mystic message of sweet peace. 



A SONG OF HOPE l6l 



A SONG OF HOPE 

To ye who peer thro' Misfortune's veil of 

gloom, 
To ye who grope in darkness and know the 

pain 
Of watching, with dry aching eyes, the long 

night thro' 
For the dawn — thy vigils are not in vain. 
To ye who dream and Hope's bright castles 

build, 
To see each shining picture grow dim and 

wane 
Before the dark and frowning face of Fate, 
'Tis but thy part — thus not in vain. 
To ye who moan in Sin's abysmal depths, 
Where Remorse, Despair relentless reign, 
Lift up thy tear-stained face to God, 
And know thou seekest pity — not in vain. 



l62 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



SISTER MINE 

Oh, sister mine, the years are long, 

Hope is a faint and fading light, 
The gray gloom comes and shadows throng 

The spirit-haunted halls of night. 
The world is still, all save the sob 

Of pines that weep and weep alone, 
And brooding specters from the heights 

Call mournfully unto their own. 

Oh, sister mine, the years are long, 

Yet hearts are warm and hearts are true, 
And there is love in every song 

That drifts adown the years to you. 
Adown the years to you, to you. 

So smile to me and kiss your hand 
Across the tide, dear heart, that flows. 

Where heaven's lilies gem the land. 

Oh, sister mine, the years are long, 
The June's red roses bloom and fade; 

The wild birds sing, then hush their song 
And to the southland wing dismayed. 



SISTER MINE ^3 

And yet when dreams of you press back 
The sordid thoughts that fill the day, 

It seems Love's summer never dies 
And Love's red roses bloom for aye. 



164 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



ONJINJINTKA 

AN INDIAN LEGEND OF THE BLACK HILLS 

Camped in the foot hills, their fires bright 

With flame and sparks flung back the night, 

And there we smoked, the chief and I, 

And hearkened to the soft wind sigh,- 

The distant music of the mountain stream, 

And all the voices that e'er seem 

Half-hushed to whispers in the trees, 

That speak of night's vast mysteries. 

The old Sioux spoke and his eyes grew dim, 

As mem'ry kissed her hand to him, 

And lured him on to tell the tale, 

Of why the lonesome pine trees wail, 

Thro' long, long nights of murk and dread, 

Like hopeless spirits of the dead. 



Onjinjintka, the rose, lovelier than the flower, 
She came and blossomed in our hearts ; 
We loved her as a child of the sunlight, 
Smiles of the dawn rested in her eyes, 



ONJINJINTKA 165 

The spirit of the Good Spirit abided with her 

spirit, 
Thus we loved Onjinjintka, the rose. 

Many were the warriors who loved her, 
Many were the gifts laid at her father's feet ; 
But to the warriors her father spoke: 
"She is my best beloved, her way is my way." 
Calm as the mountain lake was the heart of the 

rose — 
The heart of Onjinjintka, the rose. 

From the land of the rising sun a white man 

came, 
Yellow as gold was his hair and he laughed 
After the manner of his tribe — 
Face to face met they — face to face, 
Onjinjintka, the rose, and he of the yellow 

hair, 
The maid seeing no evil in his smile. 

For he would pluck the wild rose and when its 

fragrance died, 
Fling it down in the dust of forgetfulness. 
Onjinjintka basked in his smile, 
It was as warm sunshine to her soul. 
The white man abided with us to the Spirit 

Hills, 



l66 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

Happy then was Onjinjintka, the rose. 

Here at the foot of the Spirit Hills we made our 

camp, 
Going no farther, being fearful of the anger of 

the gods. 
Broken then was the heart of Onjinjintka. 
At the dawn she awoke and found him not, 
Found not her white lover by her side. 
In the dark night he had departed. 

His trail led to a great trail, 
A great trail made by many wagons; 
For he had found his kind. 
The white man had found his own people. 
For him Onjinjintka wailed as for the dead. 
Like ashes was the heart of Onjinjintka, the 
rose. 

We heard her wailing in the darkness, 
Wailing for her love in the darkness. 
She wandered afar into the Spirit Hills. 
Her father called her and she answered not. 
We waited and she returned not, 
Lonesome were we without Onjinjintka, the 
rose. 

Hearken, the wind comes through the pines. 
It is the voice of her, 



ONJINJINTKA 167 

It is the voice of her wailing through the dark- 
ness, 

Wailing for him who loved her not. 

We shiver as we listen to her wailing, 

Sad and lonesome is the spirit of Onjinjintka, 
the rose. 



1 68 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 



TO A MANILA MESTIZA 

Senorita, garlanded with bleeding hearts, 
The heavy scent of ylang-ylang in thy hair ; 
Brown-breasted maid, of far Luneta's strand, 
Again I linger with thee there. 
Beyond yon peaks the night-gloom lies, 
See ! the regal sunset flames and dies ; 
Again the white stars seem to meet 
The lights that burn in Old Cavite — 
Silence, save the voice of thee, 
And all the sea's sad melody. 

Written on the Steps of a Temple 

back of Nagasaki, Japan 

May, 1899 



STORY OF LITTLE FELLER 



STORY OF LITTLE FELLER 171 



STORY OF LITTLE FELLER 

Little Feller lived out in the Sunset Coun- 
try where the prairie dogs bark all the long 
summer days and the meadow larks sing sweet- 
ly in the box elder trees along the creek. 

He was a big-eyed urchin with very white 
hair and a countenance which he twisted gro- 
tesquely when he made faces at the chickens. 
He was much beloved by his father and 
mother, as he was all they had. Yet his mother 
was known to spank him severely at times, but 
the spanking was generally followed by a vast 
amount of kissing and most always a cookie. 
Sometimes she would hold him close to her 
and talk to him in a language no one else could 
understand. Perhaps it was the language of 
love. Anyway, at such times Little Feller was 
tearfully happy. 

Little Feller's father never spanked him, 
and many times he interfered when the boy 
was in imminent danger of chastisement from 
the maternal side of the house. He was a tall, 



172 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

full-chested man with a long mustache which 
the boy always felt a desire to investigate, pull- 
ing down his father's lip to see it fly back. 
This operation filled Little Feller with delight, 
and he laughed gurglingly. He did not know 
what made him love his father so. He could 
not explain. Perhaps it was because the man 
prepared his bread and milk before he touched 
his own supper, or, perhaps, it was because 
when he grew sleepy his father's arms cradled 
him and his father's voice, deep and tender, 
soothed him to pleasant dreams. Then the 
man would say to the woman: "Mammy, I 
guess I'll put Little Feller to bed," and he 
would carry the boy into the bedroom, walk- 
ing softly lest he awaken him. After that the 
man would seek his pipe. 

Thus Little Feller lived. During the day 
he built strange-looking villages out of stones 
and firewood, or made believe he was an Indian 
in the tent he had made, with his father's as- 
sistance, out of an old quilt he had found be- 
hind the house. Under this quilt he emitted 
queer grunts and talked to himself quaintly. 
He also played horse a great deal, and made 
believe the stick he held between his chubby 



STORY OF LITTLE FELLER 1 73 

legs was a real bucking- bronco. When the 
bronco became especially fractious he would 
call his mother to watch him subdue the unruly 
animal. But the happiest period of the day 
to him was when his father came home. Then 
he would stand at the gate and call in thick, 
lispy accents and jump up and down in an 
ecstasy of joy. He always rode on his father's 
back from the gate to the kitchen. 

But one day Little Feller lost interest in the 
tent, the villages of stone and wood, and even 
the bucking bronco held no charms for him. 
He had eaten no breakfast and had not offered 
to go out of doors. He sat in the rocking- 
chair and cried fretfully. His mother looked 
at him and noted his cheeks were flushed, and 
when she pressed her face against his she 
found it very hot. After which she made him 
swallow something which Little Feller made 
up his small mind never to swallow again. In 
the evening the father came home and found 
the mother holding the boy in her arms and 
singing soft lullabys to him. But the lullabys 
seemed to have lost their soothing power. 
Sometimes Little Feller cried out as if in pain. 
The father bent over him and, clasping a hot 



174 BLACK HILLS BALLADS 

little hand in his, asked him "where it hurted." ' 
But the boy did not know. He only looked up 
a moment and turned his face to his mother's 
breast and cried. 

The father rushed from the house and 
harnessed his fastest team and drove swiftly 
toward the distant town. The next morning 
a strange man with a leather case full of bottles 
came and felt of Little Feller's hand; he also 
placed a glass tube in his mouth, and talked 
very low and kind to the worn-out mother. 
The father was pacing up and down in the 
kitchen. 

Little Feller was having many adventures 
now. Beautiful visions blossomed out before 
his wondering baby eyes in brightness and in 
splendor ; then a horrid black monster blew its 
hot breath in his face, and he shrieked in terror. 
Then there would come sweet music, like one 
of his father's cowboys used to play on the 
mouth organ. 

He called for his father repeatedly, al- 
though the man was beside his bed day and 
night. Little Feller seemed to think he was 
far away. 

One morning just as it was growing gray 



STORY OF LITTLE FELLER 



175 



in the east, the boy sighed one faint, gentle 
sigh. Little Feller was tired of play and so he 
went to sleep. His mother fell across the bed 
sobbing wildly and his father went out and 
stared into the dawn. Presently the trees 
hushed their voices for they heard him cry 
out, "Oh, God !" after which he wept hoarsely. 




JAW 



